King of New York
by Vinnie Monfredo
Summary: This story was written in my first days of my fanfic writing career. Please R&R.


I dont own anyone. Disney has that privilege.

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After, the strike… it was different. Everyone knew who we were and our cause. But, it was different. Yea, we got more papers sold, but we lost one of our newsies. One of our most respected, I might add. We didn't even see it coming.

Yea, we knew he was stressed. We all were. But, somehow, it did him in. The last time that we were all together, and well, was that day when we won the strike. After that day, we noticed a change. He was sleeping more, got sick more often, didn't try to sell as many papers as he could have. Even Spot noticed it. Spot would bring him to Tibby's and buy him the most expensive item on the menu, Spot's treat. But he would refuse. He'd order it and eat only half. He sort of wasted away in front of our eyes. At night, he would collapse into bed, exhausted. Even when we'd play poker, he wouldn't join in. Racetrack, the king of poker, would refuse to play. He stopped going to the racetracks. Jack would ask him what was wrong. We never figured it out until he died. It was one of the saddest moments of our lives. He would get up with ring around his eyes, and we wouldn't know why. He slept more than the rest of us, about 4 hours more! Why was this happening?

We did everything we could, pooled our earnings for a doctor, brought him healthy treats everyday, let him sleep more, kept the bunkroom quiet. But it was to our avail. We could see him get weaker and weaker.

His last words to me were, "Don't cry, Kloppman, everything's fine. I'm going to be with me mom and dad. Keep the boys healthy and get them up early. Don't want them mourning after so they don't sell."

Before he died, we gave him our last memories of before the strike. He laughed with us and told his own jokes. "Remember the time Spot went with me to the tracks, and he bet on the 3rd horse and I bet on the 7th and I won? He was mad because he believed the 'hot tip' from Queens."

Spot chuckled and wiped at his eyes. Racetrack saw this and said, "Now don't tell me the mighty Spot has gotten soft." Spot slammed his fist down on the headboard of the bed and said, "Damn it Race, you were one of the best damn newsies out there."

Snipeshooter piped up, "And your cigars." Race chuckled and told him about the Havana cigars that were tucked under his bed for safekeeping, but Snipes could have them now. He didn't see a use for them now that... he was... moving on. Jack sat on the bed. He put his arms around his neck and took off his cherished bandana.

"You can have this now, Race," he said, "I think you need it more." Race took it and looked up, "Why?" Jack looked away. He didn't want Race to see him with tears in his eyes. "When your up there in Heaven," he faltered, "I want you to look down and remember us. Remember our cause." He stood up and turned around. I took out my handkerchief and handed it to him. He took it and shouted, "Damn it, I can't take this!" stomped out the door. We could hear him sobbing and running down the stairs. As we listened, we heard the door of the lodging house open and slam shut. We knew that Jack had to be alone to mourn the coming death of his best friend.

Crutchy followed him. At the doorway, Crutchy gave Race a sad smile, a little wave and turned to follow Jack. Race started coughing. We all just looked at him, nothing we could do. It was too far developed. I felt so ashamed that I felt that I was letting him die. He was like one of my children.

All the boys passed on their final regrets and pleasantries. I was the last. As he looked at me he said, "Don't cry, Kloppman, everything's fine. I'm going to be with me mom and dad. Keep the boys healthy and get them up early. Don't want them mourning after so they don't sell."

I hadn't even realized tears were coming out of my eyes. I told him that he would always be remembered even after he was gone. I looked around the room. Everyone inside was tearing up. Everyone had cherished this boy, had loved him, and had laughs with him. Now he was leaving them. I felt this wave of hate coming for the Thing That Must Happen to everybody.

Race choked out a few goodbyes and leaned back. "Tell Jacky not to blame himself." And that was it. He died. Spot sat on the bed and put his hand on Race's chest. "Bye, my poker friend. I could always count on you to tell me who was cheating and who wasn't." With that, he left.

Skittery leaned against the windowsill, and muttered, "This always happens. Kings live and kings die, but the King of New York will always be remembered." Everyone looked at him and silently agreed.


End file.
